


The Ties That Bind (the Wicked and the Divine)

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bisexual Cassandra Pentaghast, F/F, Female Friendship, Fluff, Inquisitor Hawke, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Trans Female Character, Trans Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They're both headstrong women but there are moments when harsh words are put aside in favour of getting through a long day.-Or: Hawke is miserable, Cassandra is fairing a little bit better, and sometimes all you need is some quiet companionship and a helping hand to make it all better.





	The Ties That Bind (the Wicked and the Divine)

Hawke sprawls back into the grass by the lake, legs stretching out as she exhales, sweaty and exhausted after the long day – the sun setting far above them, soon to give away for the two moons to rise high and bright.

She turns her head, glancing at the Seeker.

Both of them had been covered in a sticky black goop courtesty of an ill-timed flare of fire magic coupled with Varric’s bolt hitting it _just so_ causing a backlash of energy that had resulted in an explosion.

Hawke had gotten the worst of it – half her face nearly entirely black, glittering vaguely green in the lowering light, and from the looks of it Hawke severely doubted her shirt would ever regain its former stark red colour.

“Do you want to go first?” Hawke asks, wiping sweat and black tar-like demon goop from her brow, grimacing a bit at something pulled at her side and she sends a questing brush of magic to evaluate her state post-adrenaline, deciding after a moment that it wasn’t worth her immediate attention. “I’ll look away,” she promises with a teasing curl of her lips as Cassandra flushes slightly, her leather armour hitting the ground.

“We can bathe at the same time,” the grouchy Seeker says just a tad waspishly. “Solas said it was best not to let it linger.”

Cassandra tugs at the leather ties on her vambraces, hooking two fingers beneath them too loosen them enough to pull them off, letting them drop, mouth curling with some frustration as it revealed the fabric beneath it tar black with demon gunk.

Hawke pauses, eyes widening a bit owlishly at the Seeker who senses her gaze on her and turns. “We are both women,” the Seeker says just a tad dryly. “I doubt you have anything I haven’t seen before.” The woman gives up on her shirt and just drags it all up and off her with a smooth roll of muscles and some sharp jerky tug to get it over her head, letting it land in a syrupy mess with a breath of relief. “Leave it for Varric,” she adds with some relish, accent deepening. “He is the one responsible, he can clean it.”

Hawke flushes at the dark skin revealed, running an appreciative look over the strong muscles visible on the Seeker’s back before reaching down to start on her boots.

It’s a relief to get them off, turning and letting them empty from the squishy feeling that had pervaded her feet for the last hour before throwing them aside, soon joined by her socks and armour, metal and leather and then the shirt she wore beneath it, breathing out as she stretched up her arms.

A splash of water draws her eyes to the Seeker, watching her wade into the water until it reached her navel with a roll of her shoulders. And then she was reaching up to undo the braid crowning her head and Hawke can’t resist lingering on the ease of the motion as she worked thorough it until a gathering of long dark hair stretched down on her back.

Drawing her attention back to herself she rolls up, yanking her belt out of its loop and shoving out of her pants, thankful that she’d chosen to wear something less recognisable while on the road, not missing the many belts of her iconic get-up at all as she freed herself.

She hesitates for a moment at her underwear but-

_We are both women._

She breathes out and pushes them down, stepping out of them and discarding them aside with the rest – running a hand through her short hair and promptly regretting it when her finger came back black.

She gave it an experimental sniff, sneezing and shoving her hand far away from her.

“It’s rank,” she says, somewhat pained, inching her way to the water. “Please tell me you have some of that strong soap the Iron Bull favours.”

“He told me that it was not human friendly.” Cassandra breaks it in her hands, offering her one half of the lilac bar of soap. “But it gets rid of those marks of his and they last through anything.”

“ _This_ doesn’t feel very human friendly,” Hawke says, shaking her hand with a grimace as she steps out into the cool water with a shudder, the cold bringing goose bumps to her skin and she stops with it half-way up her ribs.

Cassandra snorts in agreement, already scrubbing hard on her wrist.

It soon becomes apparent that Iron Bull hadn’t been joking and Hawke grimaces at the sting on her skin, scrubbing at a particularly nasty spot on her thigh with some frustration while her skin tingled and burnt where she’d already worked herself over – not unlike a rash, little bumps rising in irritation.

A glance at Cassandra lets her know that the other woman was fairing much better, skin irritated but lacking the bumps.

Hawke’s skin had always been sensitive and it was letting its unhappiness with her known. Loudly.

“I think I have some on my back,” Hawke says with some frustration. “And on my face – what do you think the odds of me going blind is if I get this into my eye?” she asks with some bitter humour, frustrated, cold and quite ready to get it all over with and sleep for some ten hours _at least._

“Varric would never let me hear the end of it if I let you wander back _blind,_ ” the Seeker says dryly, turning to look at her over her shoulder and Hawke realises, with some envy, that her skin nearly completely free from black stains, maybe a spot or two left while Hawke still looked vaguely like someone had spilled ink down her face, back and flank. “Do you require assistant?” Cassandra raises her half of the soap.

Hawke tries very hard not to feel like the Seeker was brandishing a weapon at her as she nods with a slight grimace as rash-like irritation crawled from her collarbone.

“We’ll spare your face last,” Cassandra decides, her gaze on the bumps on her skin with a slight dip of her brow. “Hopefully someone has something to help with that.”

Hawke’s skin prickles for an entirely other reason as the tall warrior woman steps up behind her, a hesitant hand settling on her shoulder before tightening with some strength and fingers brushed up beside the small scrape from earlier. “Remind me to help you put some ointment on this later,” Cassandra says a bit roughly. “Better safe than sorry.”

Remnants from demons was notoriously problematic in wounds, often causing long-term trouble that could be hard to treat, so Hawke merely nods.

Cassandra bends slightly and pushes down, scrubbing firmly but with care on her lower back as Hawke focused back on her thigh and then hip.

In any other situation she might have relished at the feel of the warm and firm grip because she missed the casual touches of her friends but the pain from the rash was shifting into a nettling sort of itch and her fingers twitches, half-wishing the soap came with something sharp.

It takes the Seeker some ten minutes the rid of the last on her back after Hawke decided that whatever she could reach was gone, shivering a bit in the cold as she stares quietly out over the lake, watching the reflective moons now high on the sky above them, sun long gone.

“Turn around,” the Seeker murmurs and Hawke quietly does as told, tired eyes finding hazel.

A surprisingly gentle hand settles on the side of her face currently not stained in greenish black tint. “Close your eyes,” the other bids and Hawke lets her eyes slide shut.

There’s a pause, as from surprise from her easy compliance, before hair was being brushed away and a bar of soap settles on her cheek.

She grimaces as the pink rash rise with little bumps that itch beneath the Seeker’s work but at last she’s done and she dunks her head down beneath the surface, the cool water easing some of the sting as she scrubs her hands down her skin to rid of as much of the soap as she possibly can before breaking surface.

A towel is waiting for her and she takes it gratefully, wrapping herself tight with a brief shiver.

From the bag she’d gotten the soap Cassandra pulls out extra clothing for them both, hesitating before trading their shirts and Hawke finds herself with a loose, surprisingly soft shirt with ties at the neck while Cassandra pulls the rougher spun tunic down and over her head without comment.

The thoughtfulness of it brings a slight flush to Hawke's cheeks.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, slipping it over her head, not bothering with the pants after pulling on a pair of dark underwear.

“Think nothing of it,” the Seeker murmurs, straightening up in her own ensemble. “Let us return.”

Hawke crawls into their shared tent as Cassandra takes charge of the camp, Varric groaning but not offering up much of a protest before disappearing into the forest to salvage at least some of their armour.

Solas slips inside the tent soon after and his gaze darts over the raised bumps with some sympathy, a jar of ointment in hand. “Rub this in, it should ease the worst of the itchiness.”

“You promise?” Hawke asks with some desperation. “I fell into a bush of nettles some years back and it wasn’t _nearly_ as bad as this.” She’s only just resisting tearing her skin off, fingers curled into claws, the mark on her left hand crackling livid green in response to her agitation.

“I promise,” Solas assures her. “We’re warming some leftovers at the fire and Iron Bull told me to let you know you’re both free from watch duty tonight. He’s pulling double-duty with Varric.”

She gives him a grateful smile and he gives her a little wink in return before slipping out, letting the flaps flutter close behind him.

Hawke rubs it in as best as she can, resolving to ask the Seeker to get her back when she returned.

To her eternal relief Solas had been right- she could feel the bumps easing down, the painful itch settling into a slight sting, her shoulder slowly lowering as she breathed out.

Cassandra ducks in with two bowls of stew and a piece of bread each and Hawke accepts it gratefully as the woman drops down beside her.

They eat in companionable silence, Hawke struggling against sleep with a large yawn at the end of it.

“Lift your shirt.” Hawke doesn’t hesitate to comply, fumbling a bit before getting it up to her neck, letting Cassandra apply the ointment from Solas over her back before trading it for another that she carefully prods in place at the small wound before wrapping her up carefully. “There,” the Seeker says with some satisfaction. “That should do it.”

“Thank you, Cass,” Hawke says with sincerity and has front-row seats to a pretty red colour spreading across the warrior woman’s cheeks, delight blossoming through her and smile tipping soft.

“It was nothing,” the woman says a bit gruffly, clearing her throat.

They settle down for the night, sleeping bags close, hands just shy of brushing against each other in the dark.

Hawke breathes out, quiet and content.

“’Night, Cass.” She can’t resist the nickname a second time, not when the response had been so beautiful.

Silence, a rough exhalation.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” Cassandra says quietly and Hawke smiles to herself, eyes closing, breathing in the scent clinging to her borrowed shirt as she sunk down into an well-deserved rest.


End file.
